


Watch Out, the World’s Behind You

by pantheon_of_discord



Series: Season 12 Codas [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x09 Coda, Castiel is righteously pissed, Coda, Dean hates the quiet, M/M, Probably really excessive comma use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9486941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantheon_of_discord/pseuds/pantheon_of_discord
Summary: When you really listened, the bunker was quiet. Like, really quiet. In most buildings when you’re alone and it’s late at night you still hear things; pipes clanking or the refrigerator running, the wind outside and those weird cracks and thunks that walls just make sometimes. But whether by some Men of Letters hoodoo or just virtue of being an underground lair on the outskirts of Nowhereville, Kansas, the bunker, when you actually stopped to hear it, was dead silent.12x09 Coda, wherein Dean can't take the quiet and Cas did NOT appreciate the communications blackout.





	

 When you really listened, the bunker was quiet. Like, _really_ quiet. In most buildings when you’re alone and it’s late at night you still hear things; pipes clanking or the refrigerator running, the wind outside and those weird cracks and thunks that walls just make sometimes. But whether by some Men of Letters hoodoo or just virtue of being an underground lair on the outskirts of Nowhereville, Kansas, the bunker, when you actually stopped to hear it, was dead silent.

 

It was late; their dinner in the war room had lasted longer than normal, but was mostly silent. Sam and Dean learned bits of what Mary and Cas had been doing without them, but with nothing of substance to add, any attempts at conversation fizzled out quickly. Still, with their weeks apart, no one seemed to want to separate, not even for a few hours of much needed sleep.

 

It was Sam, clearly exhausted, who had given in first and finally loped off to bed. Mary followed shortly after, retiring to the room that had briefly been hers. Dean stood at the same time, hugging his mother tightly before begging off too, leaving Castiel to sit alone in the war room, promising as always to keep watch.

 

Dean had made his way down the hall to his door, closing it behind him quickly and almost immediately regretting it. He was tired as well (running for miles through a cold, wet forest will do that to you – and isn’t _that_ a memory he wants to think about right now) but Dean knew the moment he tried to sleep, the oppressive silence of the bunker would bear down on him. Kicking off his shoes, he quickly crossed to his bed and put his headphones on. Dean closed his eyes and sighed deeply, tried to even out his breathing. He was of course intensely glad to be home, in his own room, but laying with his back to the headboard and his ankles crossed, Velvet Underground blaring in his ears, he felt the silence like a physical thing, pressing down on him and crushing into his pores. He squeezed his eyes tighter.

 

Perhaps it was the heightened awareness that came from nearly two months of solitary confinement, or maybe it was just what always happened when Cas was nearby, but even through the scratchy guitar with the volume turned up to eleven, Dean felt the air shift as his door swung open silently and Castiel poked his head inside. He could pretend to be asleep, but Dean knew the futility of that. Instead, Dean cracked his eyelids to see Castiel frowning, his eyes still somewhere between hurt and angry. Dean pulled the headphones down off his ears as Castiel quietly closed the door behind him.

 

“Sam and your mother are both asleep. I. . . wanted to see if there was anything else you needed.” His voice was tight, clipped, and Dean felt a wave of guilt rush over him.

 

“Nah, I’m good,” he lied. “Just takin’ in some tunes.” He gestured to his headphones. “All the quiet in there, I guess I didn’t realize how much I missed my music. Or any music.”

 

Castiel’s face twitched just briefly, before nodding once. “Well then, goodnight.” He turned to leave, one hand on the doorknob before Dean found his voice.

 

“Cas, wait a sec.” Castiel paused, turning back to face Dean and standing as though he were bracing for a fight. Dean took a breath.

 

“Look man, I know you’re still kinda pissed at me and Sammy.”

 

Castiel arched one very dangerous eyebrow.

 

“Okay, a lot pissed. And. . . you’ve got a right. I mean, we’ve all got that Winchester martyrdom complex to work on. I get it. But listen, I uh. . .” Dean trailed off, casting about his room for something to look at that wasn’t Cas’ face. He settled on his desk, before taking another long, stabilizing breath.

 

“It was a long time alone in that cell. A really long time. And I guess it’s. . . it’s still kinda getting to me.” He grimaced ruefully. “Tried to shake it but I. . . I don’t really wanna sit here alone. So, you can be pissed at me, that’s fine. But, can you, can you just be pissed. . . _here_? Can you just sit in here for a while? We don’t have to talk or anything, if you don’t want. You can meditate, or do some angel yoga, count backwards from infinity, whatever. Just, um, stay for a bit?”

 

Dean finally brought his gaze back to Castiel, whose own eyes still bore a shade of hurt, but had softened somewhat. He nodded.

 

“Of course.”

 

Dean smiled a little, and tried not to let his rather intense relief show on his face. He patted the bed beside him. Castiel seemed to deliberate for a moment, before pulling off his own shoes and gingerly arranging himself onto the bed beside Dean, mimicking his position.

 

“Thanks, man,” Dean mumbled.

 

Closing his eyes, Dean tilted his head back and focused on the minute sounds Castiel was making. His even breaths, the shifting of his legs has he tried to get comfortable, the rustle of his coat against the blankets. Dean relished them – even the tiniest noise was proof that Dean wasn’t alone. His breathing came easier and easier.

 

“Why didn’t you pray to me?”

 

Dean’s eyes flew open.

 

Castiel wasn’t looking at him, but rather straight ahead at the bedroom door. Dean swallowed and looked up at the ceiling, but didn’t answer.

 

“You were in there for weeks, and all that time, I never heard you. Not once. Why didn’t you?”

 

Okay, so they were going to have this conversation. Great.

 

Dean sighed. “And say what, Cas? I couldn’t have told you anything useful. We didn’t know where we were. Didn’t know how big the place was or how many guys you’d be facing if you tried to pull off some gung-ho solo rescue – and you would have, we both know it.” Dean added, as he saw out of the corner of his eye Cas open his mouth with an angry retort. Dean carried on.

 

“So tell me, what could I have said? What could I say that would’ve led anywhere other than you getting your ass locked up right next to me and Sammy – or worse.” Dean finally leaned his head forward, and Castiel turned from the door to face him.

 

“How about ‘I’m alive.’ ‘I’m okay.’ Or, ‘I’m really not okay, I’m losing my mind in here.’ ‘I have Honky-Tonk Woman stuck in my head, and if I have to suffer, then so do you.’”

 

He paused briefly. “What about ‘I miss you.’ If, um,” Cas’ eyes darted away for a moment, staring somewhere around Dean’s knees. “If you did, that is. If that’s how you felt, I mean. . .” Dean saw him close his eyes, but Castiel pushed on. “I don’t know, just something. Anything.”

 

Dean felt a vice grip squeeze around his heart. He ached to reach out a hand, to make some attempt. Instead, Dean swallowed again, and clasped his own hands together in his lap.

 

“I don’t know, man. I guess I figured. . . I figured it’d be worse. If I started talking to you, I’d be just talking to _myself_ really. Praying makes for an annoyingly one-sided conversation, buddy, and I figured that’d send me cuckoo’s nest even faster than the military-enforced Me Time.”

 

Castiel opened his eyes again, but still didn’t meet Dean’s gaze.

 

“Plus I think if I’d started talking, I wouldn’t have stopped, and you’d get a whole lot more of an earful than you bargained for.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means. . .” Hell, he’d started this, at this point he may as well keep going. “It means I did miss you, Cas. A lot. And that wouldn’t have been fun to marinate in for two months. So I kept my trap shut. Sue me,” he added, a little bit of annoyance flaring up in him.

 

“Until you called for Billie.”

 

He should’ve known he wouldn’t get away that easy. Cas was finally looking at him again, the hurt and anger back in his eyes.

 

“You were planning on dying. Again. You made that deal with the intention of letting her take you.”

 

Dean shifted uncomfortably.

 

“Had to be me. Think I would’ve let Sammy do it? Or you, or Mom?”

 

Castiel sighed, his eyes resigned.

 

“No, you wouldn’t have. And it’s what you do every time.”

 

Dean shrugged. “Like I said, we Winchesters have our issues with self-sacrifice.” He eyed Castiel sideways. “That means you too.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah, are you kidding? You heard what Billie said. Grand, cosmic consequences for breaking a blood pact like that. Just ‘cause she’s dead, you think that’s gonna go away?”

 

“So what, you wish I hadn’t killed her?” Castiel’s anger flared back up at once.

 

“No, Cas, that’s not what I meant. What you did. . .” He stopped, seeing his mother with a gun to her head in his mind’s eye. He tried as best he could without words to convey his gratitude, and after a moment it looked like Castiel understood.

 

“Cas, it’s what any of us would’ve done. But there’s gonna be fallout from this, and you. . . you’d just better not be the one that pays for it. It was my stupid idea.”

 

“So, _you’ll_ pay for it then? Around and around we go, Dean.”

 

“I know, you’re right.” Dean huffed out a breath, which turned into a real laugh, and he kneaded a hand across his forehead. Even Cas quirked the corner of his mouth. Dean felt the tension in the room start to dissipate.

 

“God, we suck,” Dean said as he dropped his hand back down to his lap.

 

“Yeah, I think we do. And Dean, whatever the consequences, we’ll deal with them when they come. We always do.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I missed you too.”

 

Dean stilled, and met Cas’ eyes again.

 

“This place,” Cas said, looking out at the bedroom door again. “It’s very quiet when you’re not here. I didn’t like it.”

 

Dean felt warmth bloom in his chest.

 

“Yeah, Cas, I know what you mean.”

 

Castiel reached out hesitantly, and briefly squeezed Dean’s wrist where it lay in his lap. Dean’s heart thumped wildly, even as Castiel withdrew his hand.

 

“Try to get some rest, Dean. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

 

“Thanks, Cas.”

 

Dean settled back against the pillows, placing his headphones on the bedside table and switching off the lamp. The lights from the hallway spilled through the grate at the bottom of his door, casting swirling ivy patterns across the floor. Again Dean focused on Castiel’s deep, even breathing, before he grimaced.

 

“You bastard,” he said.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I have Honky-Tonk Woman stuck in my head. If I have to suffer, then so do you.”

 

Dean listened, and he thought he could hear Cas smile.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write much anymore, but these idiots bring it out in me.


End file.
